Be Strong, Little Duck
by ti-PIHS-i
Summary: This is a 'What if' storyline when Katniss died before the reaping, which leaves Prim to go into the games..alone?
1. Chapter 1

{This is quoted from pg. 3 to the middle of the second paragraph on page 8 of The Hunger Games}

 **Katniss:**

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

I prop myself up on one elbow. There's enough light in the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still worn but no so beaten-down. Prim's face is as fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named. My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.

Sitting at Prim's knees, gaurding her, is the world's ugliest cat. Mashed in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insisting that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower. He hases me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawney kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out to be ok. My mother got rid of the vermin and he's a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim's gift to me on reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip outside.

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. May as well sleep in. If you can.

Our house is almost at the edge of the Seam. I only have to pass a few gates to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the woods, in fact enclosing all of District 12, is a high chain-link fence topped with barbedwire loops. In theory, it's supposed to be electrified twenty-four hours a day as a deterrent to the predators that live in the woods — packs of wild dogs, lone cougars, bears — that used to threaten our streets. But since we're lucky to get two or three hours of electricity in the evenings, it's usually safe to touch. Even so, I always take a moment to listen carefully for the hum that means the fence is live. Right now, it's silent as a stone. Concealed by a clump of bushes, I flatten out on my belly and slide under a two-foot stretch that's been loose for years. There are several other weak spots in the fence, but this one is so close to home I almost always enter the woods here.

As soon as I'm in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows from a hollow log. Electrified or not, the fence has been successful at keeping the flesh-eaters out of District 12. Inside the woods they roam freely, and there are added concerns like venomous snakes, rabid animals, and no real paths to follow. But there's also food if you know how to find it. My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.

Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most are not bold enough to venture out with just a knife. My bow is a rarity, crafted by my father along with a few others that I keep well hidden in the woods, carefully wrapped in waterproof covers. My father could have made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they're as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they're among our best customers. But the idea that someone might be arming the Seam would never be allowed.

In the fall, a few brave souls sneak into the woods to harvest apples. But always in sight of the Meadow. Always close enough to run back to the safety of District 12 if trouble arises. "District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety," I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, even in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public market. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself. Gale. I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge overlooking a valley. A thicket of berry bushes protects it from unwanted eyes. The sight of him waiting there brings on a smile. Gale says I never smile except in the woods.

"Hey, Catnip," says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when I first told him, I had barely whispered it. So he thought I'd said Catnip. Then when this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts, it became his official nickname for me. I finally had to kill the lynx because he scared off game. I almost regretted it because he wasn't bad company. But I got a decent price for his pelt.

"Look what I shot," Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it, and I laugh. It's real bakery bread, not the flat, dense loaves we make from our grain rations. I take it in my hands, pull out the arrow, and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose, inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth flood with saliva. Fine bread like this is for special occasions.

"Mm, still warm," I say. He must have been at the bakery at the crack of dawn to trade for it. "What did it cost you?"

"Just a squirrel. Think the old man was feeling sentimental this morning," says Gale. "Even wished me luck."

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I say, not even bothering to roll my eyes. "Prim left us a cheese." I pull it out.

His expression brightens at the treat. "Thank you, Prim. We'll have a real feast." Suddenly he falls into a Capitol accent as he mimics Effie Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once a year to read out the names at the leaping. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. "And may the odds —" He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.

I catch it in my mouth and break the delicate skin with my teeth. The sweet tartness explodes across my tounge "-- be ever in your favor." I finish with equal verse.* The berry's juice spread across my toung like wild fire, infecting every tate bud by touch. Pain shot through my mouth and down my throat. It was --"Nightlock." I take my last breath as the juice of the berry began to burn my lungs to ashes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gale:**

"KATNISS!" I cried. I knelt down by her side and wailed, "What have I done! This is all my fault!" I softly stroked her hair. "Pull your self together Gale. Be strong!" I told myself. I put one arm under her knees and the other under her neck, and held her pale body close to mine. "How am I going to tell Prim?" I wonder aloud.

I walked up to Katniss's house, hesitated, then knocked. Her mother opened the door so only a sliver of light shone through into the depths of her home. Her mother examined her daughter's body with the same eyes that stared back. She closed the door. There was a soft whisper, and a sound of feet skipped to their room. Prim. Her mother came back, but this time she stepped out into the light. "I have not told Prim yet." The same eyes that examined the body examined me. The eyes of a hurting soul. "What was the cause?" She asked.

"Nightlock." I say. I extended my arms out and her mother scooped Katniss up. When her husband died in the mines, she closed off from everyone, and left Katniss to care for Prim. And now I feared she would do it again. Except who would care for Prim? With my name in the drawrings 40 times, I might not be here to help Prim. She wouldn't even hurt a fly. Her mother awoken me from my thoughts. She lifted three fingers, kissed them, and held them up to the sun.

She placed a finger over each of Katniss's eyelids, and forced her eyes to close. "We will have a funeral after the Reaping. But for now, I must go break the news to Prim." I watched as the frail woman slipped back into the safe shadows of her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Prim:**

I screamed and ran to Katniss's room. I spralled out on her bed and cried. I cried until I hear the alarm in the distance. 15 gongs, 15 minutes. I flopped off the bed and held Buttercup close. "This can't be real," I reasurred myself, "Katniss is not dead." But when I walked out of my room My mother was laying Katniss on a cot. She had dressed Katniss in the blue dress that she would've worn to the reaping. Katniss's hair was pulled back in my mother's traditional braid. Katniss looked so calm, almost like she was sleeping. I held her cold hand in mine, but she was not asleep. Her heart had no beat, for all melody in her voice was lost.

My mother tore me away, and cupped my face in her hands, "Primrose, we will get through this. Together."

"Ok." I say. I fixed my dress and smothed my hair. The final gong sounded. This gong meant it was time to start our parade to the center. We walked out of the house and met Gale along the way. I traded my mother's hand for Gale's.

"Are you okay Prim?" he asked. His brows creased together.

"Yes." I lie, painting a brave face for Gale.

"Okay, just checking." He says. We have finally arived to the square. We are lined up by age and gender. Girls on the left, younger in the back. Boys on the right, younger in the back. I check in and head to the last row on the left. The anthem began.

The anthem ended. We are now being broad casted to the rest of Panem. A drunken voice blared across the center. "KAtnIsS eVEeERdEeEeN, cOmmE ouT, COme OUut WHerE eVEer yOU ArE." My mother sliced through the crowd to the front stage.

A thing dressed in pink with white hair and extreme make up stepped forward. "Excuse me, who are you. This is an area for 12 to 18 year olds only."

"I am the mother of Katniss Everdeen. I am here sadly on her behalve. She has passed. She had gone to the square this morning to retrive breakfast by trading her sister's old clothing, to return home with berries. She had eaten one while preparing food, call out the word nightlock, and then died." She says. She lied. Gale and I both know she did. If the Capitol ever knew that she illegaly hunted...

"Well alrighty then," The strange woman said, " since all but the dead are accounted for lets begin! My name is Effie Trinket." She was too cheerful. "Ladies first!" She reached into the glass globe labled girls. Effie cleared her throat for dramatic effect. And dramatice it was. I painted a brave face for the rest of Panem. The next name would haunt me forever. That name would haunt me till the day I die. The day I die will be sooner than expected, because that name was mine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Gale:**

A deathly hush fell over the hords of people. The same questions that raced through their minds, was racing through mine. Why? How? Why was a 12 year old picked? How will she survive? The only sound you heard was the sound of Prim's shoes hitting the ground.

"Is _nobody_ going to clap for this lucky young lady!?"... _Effie._ Ooh how I hated her. She began to slap her hands together. "Alright, so maybe the male tribute will get a little more enthusiasm!" Effie suggested. _Maybe.._

She reached her hand down into the second glass globe. She unfolded a slip of paper, took a breath, preparing to hurt a family in way uncomprehendable to her. "Peeta Mellark" Effie announced. The baker's son got half way to the sage before I snapped out of my trance.

"I voulenteer as Tribute," I screamed, "I VOLENTEER AS TRIBUTE!" My voice rang out, startling everybody in the room, including Peeta who jumped so high he fell over.

"OoOooOO, we have a tribute this year! Facinating!" Effie exclaimed. She beckoned my up to the stage. My whole body stiffened and went limp like a noodle at the same time. I shuffeled up to the stage. "So Mr.--"

"Gale Hawthorne."

"Ahh, so Mr. Gale Hawthorne, why did you volenteer?"

"I, um, I wanted to take care of Prim and help her. I didn't know if Pretty Boy over there would help her. I mean c'mon people, her big sister just passed, you really want to send her into the games alone?"

"OoH Kayy I think we have heard enough from Mr. Hawthorne" Effie turned to me and barred her teeth as if to say 'Why'd you do that?'. She had Haymich guide me to my seat. I've always wanted a drunk bastard of an usher.


	5. Chapter 5

**Prim:**

I reached out and squeezed Gale's hand. He turned and looked at me. "Be strong, little duck." he said. _Little duck_. That's what Katniss called me. We finished off the ceremony with the anthem. We had a drunken victor lead us to the Justice Hall.

I sat on the couch, knowing that Peacekeepers we outside my door. They were chatting with someone. The door opened, I expected to see my mother, instead I got an unfamiliar face. The Mellark boy, the original mate tribute.

"Hey, um, I'm Peeta. I was friends with your sister. Um, I just wanted to say goodluck. And I ,uh, yeah." he stammered.

"Thanks, I guess." I said. The next visitor came in, gave a quizical look to Peeta, and advanced towards me. "Mom!" I exclaimed.

"Prim! Please don't go! You can't you're 12..you...you...just can't." But we both new very well I can. I have no other chois. I burst into tears. The Peacekeepers came into my room, and told my mother to leave.

I screamed. "NO, MOM!"

My mom ran over, hugged me, and whispered "Be strong, little duck." The Peacekeepers grabber her by the arms, and dragged her away as I screamed.


	6. Author's note:

_This is my first story, please leave opinions, contructive criticism, feedback, but please don't critisize._

 _ **Let me know if you would like me to continue this, or if you want me to write something else. I am open to suggestions as long as it is a story following the ones listed in my bio. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry if I broke your soul. If you want to know, yes Peeta's name was called but Gale volenteered. The opening ceremony outfits were still the same except Prim was sitting on Gale's shoulders**._


End file.
